Love At First Bite
by Sheila Bryant
Summary: Did you know that Emily Gilmore can cook? Well, her husband didn't know either. Until one day he came home from work early. Intrigued? Then read on.


_**Disclaimer  
**Emily and Richard, and all other recognizable Gilmore Girls characters belong to Amy Sherman-Palladino, Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, and the WB. I use these characters without permission, but am not making any profit from the copyrighted characters. No infringement is intended._

* * *

**Love at first bite**

_-__The way to a man's heart is through his stomach-_

Opening the front door, Richard furrowed his brow.  
There was loud, jazzy music playing on the stereo system, making him reconsider calling out for his wife as he usually did.  
He suddenly wondered where the maid had gone.  
Stepping into the foyer, he placed his executive case on the small end table in the hall and shrugged off his coat. Walking into the living room, he found it empty. This was getting more confusing by the second.  
Not bothering to touch the stereo system, he continued his search. Stopping in the middle of the dining room, he heard a familiar voice singing along to Nat King Cole's "LOVE". 

Richard smiled to himself, processing several trails of thoughts at once while he tiptoed towards the swinging door that connected the dining room to the kitchen. His first thought was that she had fired both the cook and the maid - she would never sing aloud when she knew someone might be listening. It was a pity, really. He liked her singing voice a lot, sometimes asking her to continue on the rare occasions that she began humming or singing when he was around. The rest of his mind was trying to figure out what his wife was doing in the kitchen. Of course, if she had fired the cook ... he looked at his watch, confirming that it was indeed time to prepare dinner. Still, his Emmy cooking?  
That couldn't possibly -- he opened the door a crack and peaked into the room to see her standing at the sink with her back to him, gently swaying to the music.  
He immediately took a step back when she turned around, hoping she hadn't seen him. Waiting a few seconds, he pushed the door open a bit again, carefully searching the room for his wife. 

There she was standing at the stove. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail, she had a dish towel tucked into the waistband of her Chanel skirt, and the sleeves of her cream white silk blouse were rolled up to her elbows.  
Richard grinned. This was too good to be true. Sneaking into the room, he leaned against the door frame. Crossing his arms over his chest, a huge grin plastered on his face, he watched her as she went on preparing a meal. He couldn't believe it. She was actually cooking.  
And even better; it really smelled delicious. 

Looking around the room he spotted a freshly made salad on the cooking isle in the middle of the room, the utensils that had been used to prepare it still lying next to the crystal bowl.   
Standing next to the sink was a small pot that seemed to contain soup.   
It seemed as if she had actually cooked a starter. Richard shook his head in amazement, wondering what kind of soup she had made.  
He couldn't find out the specifics from where he was standing, yet he didn't want her to see him and so he decided to take a closer look at a later time. Maybe she would share … if he survived the outburst he'd surely have to face when she finally spotted him.

Holding back a chuckle, Richard looked over to where Emily was putting what seems to be turkey breast into a pan, smiling proudly at how expertly she handled it. It was amazing. In all their years of marriage he had never actually seen her cook.  
Sure, sometimes he would catch her standing in the kitchen, preparing some salad or cutting some fruits but he had never seen her using the stove or the oven. Not even the microwave.  
She was great at making drinks of all kinds, but food? That was new to him. He suddenly began to wonder how often she did this.  
They had a cook, they always had had, but he was pretty sure she must have been practicing this in order to handle the pots and pans so expertly.  
A sudden yelp followed by the cluttering of a lid as it fell back onto the pot made him snap out of his thoughts. Richard quickly closed the distance between he and his wife. "Emily!" 

Damn those stupid potatoes! She had seen that the water was about to boil over and instinctively lifted the lid further, not realizing that the handle would be so hot.  
Now she had scalded her fingertips.  
Emily spun around at the sound of her name, her eyes widening in shock, "Richard!"   
Dozens of thoughts flashed through her head. What on earth was he doing at home? How long had he been standing there? What did he see? How could she get out of this? What would he do now he knew that she could cook? Did he know? It made her head spin and she was almost glad when he stepped towards her, gently taking her hand in his.  
"Are you hurt?" he asked. 

Not wanting him to see her weakness, she quickly took a step back, pulling her hand away. "What are you doing here?"  
What kind of an answer was that? Richard furrowed his brow, clearly irritated. "I'm living here, remember?"   
Emily glared at him. How she hated it when he was being sarcastic. But two could play this game. "Oh, really? Good thing you finally seem to remember that." He really had been away quite often lately. And bringing up the topic right now might make him forget that she had been cooking.  
Cooking! Her eyes widened as she remembered something else.  
Turning towards the stove, she quickly moved the pan off the hotplate to make sure the turkey breast wouldn't fry too long. Bad idea. The pan was heavy and her fingers started hurting worse when she lifted it. She sat it down on the marble counter, clenching her teeth together so Richard wouldn't see that she was in pain

Turning back to face her husband, she was slightly taken aback by the gentleness in his eyes.  
Why was he looking at her like this when she had just insulted him? He confused her.  
Crossing her arms over her chest she tried to ignore the throbbing in her fingertips, thinking of something else to say. "That's actually the reason I got home early today." Even though he saw rage burning in her eyes, he wrapped his arms around her, glad when her gaze softened at his gentleness.  
A slow smile spread across her face, immediately turning into a frown when they heard the fizzing of water as it volatized when it hit the hotplate.  
Turning towards the stove again, Emily huffed angrily. Of course, the potatoes.   
This time she took a moment to get a dish towel, then grabbed the pot and rushed over to the sink. It was no use. She cursed under her breath, the weight of the pot causing pressure on her fingertips, making the pain more prominent again.  
Richard followed her, watching while she angrily let the pot fall into the sink, "Emily?"  
She turned, glaring at him, "What?"  
"Is everything okay?" She did look furious. 

"No, nothing is okay." The throbbing in her fingertips fuelled her anger. This day had been bad to begin with. Then on top of it all her husband had found out something she had been able to hide from him for as long as they had known each other. "I knew this pot was too small, but it seems that the cook has stolen the one I usually use. Either that or the last maid put it somewhere it doesn't belong. One way or the other, I couldn't find it. Another point that proves firing both of them was inevitable!"   
He watched her intently while listening to her ranting on about how she had come downstairs to see the maid happily chatting away with the gardener, having no excuse when she had asked her why she hadn't dusted off the book case in the study yet. His mind was still pondering her comment about the pot … The pot she "usually used"?   
Richard couldn't help the smile that started forming on his lips while his wife went on about how she had tried everything in her power to keep that maid, followed by a list of reasons why she simply had to let her go in the end. 

"…and if I told you what she did to your pajamas, you would agree that…"she stopped speaking when she saw him grinning, furrowing her brow in confusion. "What is so funny?"   
"You cook often?"   
Trying to hide her shock, she walked past him to turn off the stove. "Only when the cook is not around."  
His grin widened, he following her, "So you do cook often."  
Spinning around, her eyes sparkled up at him, "I still don't understand why you are grinning like a…" she tried to come up with something to get him angry so that he would drop the subject, "…like a mule." Despite her effort she heard him chuckling lowly, shaking his head.  
"Maybe it's because I've never seen you wearing an apron before."   
She looked down at the cloth she had tucked into the waistband of her skirt, feeling the blood rushing to her face, "It's not an apron." Emily tried to keep the anger in her voice but it got harder by the minute. "It's a dish towel."

Moving closer to her, he bent his head, his voice low, "Whatever it is … you look very sexy in it."   
She had to smile. Turning to hide it from him, she shut off the stove completely, surprised when she felt him sneaking his arms around her from behind. What little anger she still held quickly vanished as he started nuzzling her neck, making her giggle, "Richard."   
Kissing his way from one side of her neck to the other, he was glad to feel her covering his hands with hers. "Stop it," she protested.  
He knew she didn't mean it when she let her head fall back against his shoulder. Brushing his lips up her neck, he whispered in her ear. "I don't want to," he muttered, kissing her temple.

Emily turned in his embrace, smiling up at him, "You really came home early because you wanted to spend time with me?"  
He nodded.  
"And there are no phone calls to Europe or China later tonight?"   
He shook his head and saw her smile, glad that he had taken the evening off.   
"Just you and me?"  
Richard nodded. "Just you and me," raising his eyebrows, "… and the turkey breast."  
She huffed in defeat, placing her forehead against his chest, "Is there any way I can get out of this?".  
Chuckling, he hugged her closer, his chin grazing her hair as he shook his head. "No."

He felt her taking a deep breath, sighing, "Now what?"  
He kissed the top of her head before he stepped away. "Now," he smiled down at her, "you are going to cook dinner."  
She looked up at him, pouting. "That won't help, dear," he chuckled.  
Looking away, she made a face, considering her options.  
She could argue with him, but he wouldn't stop bugging her about it.  
She could deny that she was good at cooking, yet he would make her do it anyway.  
She could deliberately cook badly, but she also had to eat what she cooked.  
No matter how she twisted it, she had to cook dinner one way or the other.  
And of course once he found out that she could cook well, he would still tease her about it. Probably even more if she turned out to be a bad cook.  
It was no use. Rolling her eyes she stepped away from him and made her way over to the sink to collect the pot of potatoes, deciding that she would surprise him with her cooking skills.  
After all, it was better to be mocked about something she could do than about something she couldn't.

Gingerly brushing her thumb over her fingertips, she winced. They still hurt. She used the other hand to take the lid off the pot and take a look at it's contents.  
"I don't have enough potatoes," Emily stated flatly, a wicked smile flashing over her features when she turned to face her husband.   
Raising an eyebrow, Richard cocked his head to one side. "You are not implying that you want me to peel more…!?"  
She shrugged. "Only if you want to eat them without the skin..." Emily watched in delight as his jaw dropped.  
Quickly covering his initial shock, he crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't need potatoes."  
Emily motioned to the pan on the counter. "But I only have one piece of meat."  
"Well, find something else."  
"Sure. What about some raticide?" she spat, annoyed by his sudden attitude.

Richard felt bad about his last statement, looking down, "Sorry, dear."   
Leaning back against the counter, Emily crossed her arms over her chest, looking away.  
He knew she was mad at him for treating her like a servant. But asking him to peel potatoes? Yet he had bribed her into cooking for him. Walking over to her, he put his hands on her shoulders, slightly pulling her away from the sink and kissing her forehead. "I need a knife." 

She bit her tongue, holding back the punch line she came up with, nodding instead. He had come home early and she didn't want to fight on his one evening off. "I could make some pasta instead…?"   
He smiled at her peace offering, nodding, "That sounds even better."  
"Yes, it does. It keeps you from cutting off your fingers," she mumbled while walking over to the panty.   
"I heard that." Richard grinned.  
Looking over her shoulder she shrugged. "I didn't mean for you not to hear it," she declared, disappearing into the small room that adjoined the kitchen.

He put his hands in his pockets, shaking his head as a smile appeared on his lips. How he loved this woman. Watching her re-appear, he strolled over to where she was looking into the refrigerator. "What are you doing?" he asked.  
"Searching."   
"For?"  
"My self-esteem."  
Richard chuckled, "I am sure you have plenty of it left, Emmy."  
Grabbing a box of spinach leaves, she closed the fridge. A one sided smile on her beautiful face, she shrugged and walked past him to the cooking isle.  
"And if you ever get low on it," he added, smiling, "I'll most certainly be there to boost it up again." 

She turned towards him, one elegant eyebrow raised, "How? By telling me it's my job to peel potatoes for your meal?"  
Dropping his gaze, he gave her a defeated look, "Of course not." Emily turned back towards the cooking isle, sensing him walking over to her before his hand touched her upper arm. Slowly sliding his hand up and down her arm while his cheek brushed against hers, he whispered, "By telling you that you're incredible at everything you do."   
She ripped open the box of frozen spinach leaves, smiling down at it while answering, "You haven't tried anything I've cooked yet." His lips on her neck made her close her eyes for a second before she turned her face towards his, meeting his smile.  
"I'm sure you're a good cook. And I intend to find out soon." 

Richards hands were on her hips, squeezing lightly before he stepped away to give her enough space to turn around. "First, please go and change the CD."   
It was only now that he noticed the music had stopped. Looking up as if searching for the music in the air, he nodded. "It is rather quiet in here, isn't it?"   
Sneaking her hands up his arms, she pushed herself up on her toes to give him a quick kiss before nodding, "Exactly my point."

Richard locked his hands behind her back, smiling down at her. "Any preferences?"  
She shook her head. "Just turn the volume down a bit."   
"But why?" he winked. "You could sing along." He wanted to add 'like earlier' but stopped himself when he saw a shadow crossing her face for a second.   
"You already made me cook, please don't make me sing as well." She really was slightly afraid he might press her further, feeling a weight lifting off her chest when he nodded. "Okay, I won't. But don't feel too safe."   
He stole another kiss before letting go, strolling out of the room. He grinned when he heard her whisper, "With you I never do."

Once he was gone, Emily took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. What did she get herself into?  
She should be mad at him for sneaking into the house the way he had. Still, she couldn't really be mad. He had done it in order to surprise her. And what a surprise it was.   
Looking down at her fingertips, she saw the bright red irritation on her perfect pale skin; it was worse than she had thought at first. Huffing in amusement, she rolled her eyes and shook her head, smiling.   
She would put something soothing on it later, just not now. Not while he was around. He would ask her why she did it and she would have to admit that it hurt. No, she didn't want that.   
Turning around, Emily glanced at the frozen spinach still in its box. She brushed her fingertips against it, enjoying the feeling of the ice crystals melting on her skin, numbing the pain temporarily. 

Suddenly music filled the air once again and she smiled. She knew this CD. It was a sampler of instrumental jazz tunes Rory had burned for them, starting with some dance numbers before fading into the more romantic tunes.  
Hearing Richard approach, she quickly got busy again, putting the spinach on a plate in order to defrost it in the microwave. "Could you get me some cream from the fridge?" she called over her shoulder, hearing him stop in the doorway.   
"Certainly, dear." Richard nodded and opened the fridge. Taking a good look at its contents, he furrowed his brow. "Uhm, Emily?" He heard her giggle before she snuck around him, purposefully grabbing a small cup from inside the fridge door, then vanishing from in front of him. Quickly turning around he saw her standing at the cooking isle, pouring some cream on the frozen spinach. "How did you…?"   
She gave him a side glance. "What?" she asked innocently, grabbing another plate to cover the spinach before walking over to the microwave.   
Richard shook his head, smiling "Nothing."

"I need a pot for the spaghetti," she stated, starting the microwave.  
His face lit up; he knew where the pots were stored. Enthusiastically opening the cabinet, his shoulders sagged the moment he saw the stacks of different pots.   
Another giggle escaped his wife before she appeared at his side again. "Need help?" she grinned, clearly enjoying her chance to mock him.   
Richard crossed his arms over his chest, squinting his eyes while watching her as she grabbed one of the pots. "You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?"  
Turning towards him, her grin widened, "Immensely." 

A "ping" was heard and he looked towards the microwave.  
"Ah, it's ready." Emily didn't bother looking after the spinach, finding a better use of her time by starting to heat up water for the spaghetti.   
Grabbing the salt from the high shelf the cook kept it on, she heard Richard opening the microwave. "Don't bother. I don't need it yet, anyway."  
She added some salt to the water, glancing over her shoulder to watch her husband staring into the microwave. She had to smile.  
He wanted to help. How cute. "You know, you could cut the turkey breast in squares...?" she offered, not wanting him to feel dispensable. 

Closing the microwave again, he turned to face her. "How it is you didn't seem to know how to stop the buzzing of the stove but you know how to use the microwave so well?"   
Emily shrugged, "The stove was new. I hadn't figured it out yet."  
"It was new?"   
"Yes, it was. We only had it for a few weeks and I had never used it before." She turned towards the now boiling water, throwing the spaghetti into it. "It's not as if I'd ask the cook to show me how."   
"Of course," he nodded, locking his hands behind his back, coming over to stand next to her. She turned towards him, furrowing her brow. "Did I hear sarcasm in that?"   
Grinning, he shrugged, "Maybe a little."  
Playfully slapping his chest, she walked past him to the knife-block, taking out a steak knife. "You should be glad that I'm in such a good mood, you know?"   
He followed her. "Oh yes, I am." Stopping in front of her, he bent his head down, brushing his lips over hers.  
Smiling against his lips, she whispered, "Be careful. I am holding a knife and I know how to use it."  
Richard slipped his arms around her and kissed her gently before looking deeply into her eyes. "I'm at your mercy."   
"Well, my humble servant," she extracted herself from him, holding out the knife, handle towards him, "go and cut the turkey breast."   
He took the knife, kissing her, "Whatever you want, dear."   
Grinning she raised one eyebrow. "I'll hold you to that," winking, she added, "later." 

Emily watched him walking over to the turkey breast still lying in the pan, quickly grabbing a cutting board and shoving it into his field of view before he had a chance to start cutting the meat right in the pan.  
Taking it from her, he gave her a side glance but held his tongue. Silently admitting to himself that he would have done exactly what she must have thought he would if she hadn't given him the wooden board.  
She patted his back, "And wash your hands first, please." Walking over to the stove to check on the spaghetti, she took the now empty pan with her. She placed it on one of the empty hotplates, turning it on so that it would be ready once Richard had finished the turkey breast. 

Stirring the spaghetti, she didn't have to wait long before Richard proudly held out the cutting board. Emily had to grin at his facial expression. Accepting it, she kissed him lightly, "Thank you."   
He watched her throwing the turkey breast into the pan, not looking towards him when she said, "Could you get me the spinach now?"   
Nodding, he took it out of the microwave. Carefully lifting the plate that covered it, he looked at the steaming green lump, "Are you sure you want to eat this?" He wrinkled his nose, pushing it around a bit with the edge of the plate he was still holding. 

Looking over to him, she giggled, "It's spinach, Richard. You like spinach."  
He looked over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows, "Are you sure?"   
Emily smiled, "Yes, I'm sure. Now please bring it here. I promise you'll like it."  
Mumbling something under his breath, he took the plate over to her.   
"What did you say?" she asked. Taking the plate, she let the spinach glide into the pan, making sure it covered the turkey breast pieces completely.   
"Nothing." He watched her as she prepared the pasta.   
"Good." She smiled to herself, knowing that he was still not convinced this would taste good. Pushing the spinach around with the wooden spoon she held, she stated, "I need some more cream." Emily pointed towards the cooking isle and her husband went to get it for her.

Pouring some into the pan, she continued stirring, holding out her hand, "Nutmeg."  
"What?" Richard furrowed his brow in irritation.  
"Nutmeg," she looked at him, "…please?"   
Raising his eyebrows, he shrugged his broad shoulders. "Well, where would I find that?"   
She held the spoon out to him, "Here, you stir and I'll get it."   
Once they had switched places she went over to where the spices were stored, quickly getting what she needed. She had never understood why none of her cooks kept the spices near the stove, but who was she to ask them? Well, she was their employer; still, she didn't like bugging them too much. They saw themselves as artists and one of the first things she had learned as a young wife was that you should not mess with artists.

Walking back to the stove, she grinded some of the nutmeg apple over the spinach. Putting it back in its place, she retrieved the jar of flour from the counter.  
"What is that for?" Richard asked.   
Emily smiled at her husband's interest in what she was doing, "To bind the sauce. It's too fluid."   
Richard nodded, "Uhum." Fascinated by how expertly she handled all this, he watched on as she took the spoon from him and began mixing some of the flour into the sauce. 

"It smells good."   
Emily felt a twinge of pride in her chest at his compliment but didn't say anything.  
"Could you set the table?"   
He nodded and took two plates from the cupboard, setting them down on the cooking isle while she quickly tasted the sauce, nodding before adding a little salt.  
Checking the spaghetti she turned off the burner the pan was resting on before turning around, looking at her husband. "Here?" she asked.   
He shrugged, "Why not?" moving the bowl of salad aside before taking the cutting board and knife that were still laying beside it over to the sink.  
"Oh, I don't mind. I was just wondering."

She turned back towards the stove, shutting off the other hotplate out as well. "Do you want soup?"   
Richard looked back at the small pot whose contents he had wondered about earlier, "Did you make that too?"  
Shaking her head, she got the colander and placed it on the sink. She took the pot of spaghetti in her hands, "No, I just heated it up."   
He watched her decanting the pasta, nodding, "Well, in that case, I'd like to skip the soup." "Well, what about some salad?" she looked over her shoulder and saw him shake his head.  
"To be honest, I think I'm too hungry to bother with a starter."  
Emily smiled, "All right then," she collected two forks from one of the drawers. "Hand me the plates, please."   
Doing what he was told, he remained standing next to her. Watching as she filled their plates, he followed her when she walked over to spoon some of the sauce over the spaghetti.

She stopped and looked at him. "Could you please sit down?"   
Richard grinned, "Why? Am I irritating you?"  
"As a matter of fact, you are." She cocked her head to the side, her eyes sparkling with amusement.   
Bowing his head slightly, he did as he was told. Sitting down on one of the stools at the cooking isle, he waited for her to bring their plates over.   
She felt slightly nervous, unconsciously starting to chew on the inside of her lower lip while she took the plates over and placed his in front of him before sitting down on the opposite side. Cooking for herself was one thing, but cooking for the two of them… It felt strange. What if he didn't like it? What if he did like it? Did she forget anything?  
"Wine," she announced, standing up again. 

"What?" Richard looked after her.  
Getting two glasses, she looked back at him. "We need wine."  
He sighed, "Emily, can't we just eat?"  
"No, we can't. I mean, we could, but…" she stopped and sighed, glaring at him when she heard him chuckle.   
Richard stood up, walking over to her, "Sorry dear." Kissing her brow, he put an arm around her shoulders, "You know, we could drink water…?" She looked up at him, making him add, "I just don't want our wonderful meal to get cold."   
She raised her eyebrows. "That's all it takes to get you to drink non-alcoholic beverages?" 

Leading her over to her stool, he made her sit down. "Yes, all it takes is for my wife to cook."  
Emily smiled and watched him sit down opposite her, taking his fork. She suddenly felt her heart in her throat while her eyes were fixed on her husband. Why on earth did she feel nervous? She mentally scolded herself for her own silliness. Loading up her fork energetically, she stared down at her own plate.   
Her head snapped up as she heard him standing up again, "Where are you going?"  
"I'll just get us some water," he smiled at the hint of fear in her voice.   
Nodding, she concentrated on her food again. Taking a bite, she analyzed the taste of the meal she had prepared. It was good. She was somewhat relieved that it actually seemed to match her own high standards. Well, it was a rather simple dish. She shook her head slightly; it's not as if she could win any prizes with it. Still, she was glad that it was good. 

Richard watched her furrowing her brow, chewing slowly. He held back a chuckle, knowing exactly what was going on in that beautiful head of hers.   
Quickly walking over, he poured them some water and sat down again, eager to finally start eating. It did smell delicious.   
Taking the fork in his hand, he sensed her eyes on him. Mischievously, he decided not to show any signs of emotion as he started to eat. Slowly closing his lips around the fork, he braced himself for whatever was to come.  
It tasted even better than it smelled.   
Richard didn't say a word, trying to keep any hints of emotion off of his features as he continued eating in silence. He knew it was dangerous to tease her like this, but he also knew that it was a very rare opportunity and couldn't get himself to just let it pass.

The nervousness returned. He didn't say anything. Why wasn't he saying anything? She knew it was okay. Well, maybe not perfect, but for someone who cooked as seldom as she, it was great. She also knew him well enough to know what kind of food he liked. She simply knew. At least she thought she did. Or didn't she?   
Emily felt the muscles in her arms and legs contract while she tried to keep calm on the outside, forcing herself to not hold the fork in a death grip.   
Breathing through her nose, she continued to watch him, not able to eat another bite.  
She couldn't bring herself to just ask him. What if he just didn't say anything because it really was that bad? But how could it be bad? Was he just teasing her? She knew his awful sense of humor, clenching her teeth together as she tried to tame her temper. It wasn't his fault she felt this way. Well, in a way it was, but … This was frustrating. _Very_ frustrating. 

Dropping her gaze to her plate, she didn't feel that hungry anymore but continued to eat in silence, the music in the background and the clinking of their forks against the plates the only sounds in the room.  
"You said you fired the cook?" he finally began, making her head snap up. He was still looking at his place, continuing to chew slowly while she answered.  
"Yes, I did."   
"Hmm," he nodded, picking up another fork full of spaghetti. Another endless moment of silence before he spoke again. "I think we could live without one."   
Emily felt her cool façade cracking, a smile forcing its way onto her face while she kept every trace of emotion out of her voice, "You think so?"   
He finally looked up at her, his lopsided grin matching hers, "Definitely." 

Shrugging, she looked down at her plate as she rolled up some more spaghetti, "If you say so." She met his gaze again, her eyes sparkling. "As long as you let me keep a maid around," she added.  
Richard chuckled, "As long as you can find one."   
She glared at him and he grinned, easing her temper and letting her smile reappear within seconds. "So," he took a sip from his glass of water, "What's for breakfast tomorrow?"   
Emily raised her eyebrows, "What?"   
Her husband set his glass back down, "Well, after such a lovely dinner you can't possibly think I'm going to ever again eat food bought from the bakery for breakfast."   
"Richard, this was cooking. Baking is something entirely different." She shook her head, an amused twinkle in he dark eyes.   
"So that means no breakfast?" he asked innocently.   
Emily furrowed her brow, "Why would you think that?"   
"Since we have neither a cook nor a maid at the moment…?"   
She had to chuckle, shaking her head. "You really are one of a kind, Mister Gilmore."   
"And if my heart didn't belong to you already, you would have stolen it with your cooking." He raised his glass to her and she chuckled again before they continued their dinner. 

Maybe some pan cakes, she thought, gazing at him, a proud smile on her face.  



End file.
